


The Seventh Principality

by Falcolmreynolds



Series: The Golden Knight [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Elves, F/F, Fantasy, Knighthood, Knights - Freeform, Magic, RIP me, going to have to actually write this, so I'm, this one's not actually done, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2020-11-01 07:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falcolmreynolds/pseuds/Falcolmreynolds
Summary: Svarla has everything she wanted - a monarch to serve, a kingdom to protect, and a trusted love to cherish. But something isn't right. Her dreams are invaded by a strange, skull-faced creature, and when she is called south to witness a celestial event in the great Chalavan Empire, she finds herself pulled into a centuries-old conflict she did not know existed, and now, cannot bear to let lie.





	1. One Year Later

Sunbeams glittered through the leaves of the trees. Svarla sat on a flat gray rock in the center of the clearing, cross-legged, basking in the sunshine. Around her the forest hummed and chattered.

She didn’t feel the need to speak. It wasn’t necessary; the racket of the forest was enough for her. She took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes and smiling.

Something rustled nearby. She lowered her gaze, frowning slightly, and looked over - was something intruding into her peaceful respite? Who?

“Hello?” she called.

The foliage rustled again. Svarla peered closer, placing her hands palm-down on the smooth stone and leaning towards it. “Is someone there?”

The world around her rippled, as if it were unreal. She frowned. The foliage changed, ever so slightly - from (two specific deciduous plants) to broad-leaved bushes and taller trees whose trunks vanished into an understory she didn’t recognize. The air was suddenly heavier, laden with moisture and the smell of rain and decay.

“Show yourself!” she cried, and drew Parhelion from where it lay on the stone next to her. It rippled and shimmered in her hands, present even here.

Here? Where was here?

A figure emerged from the undergrowth, melting out of the greenery bit by bit until they were suddenly all there. They were taller than Svarla, clad in a sweeping set of deep green robes. She could see their legs, juking backwards like a great cat’s, and the long deep mahogany tail that thrashed behind them. 

Perhaps the most disconcerting thing about them was the face. Rather than a humanoid face, they had a bare skull that the eyes peered through - they were sunk deep into the wide sockets, hiding in the polished white bone that surged from the skin of their neck. Their fangs hung down too long, frighteningly so, and Svarla saw them catch sight of her and narrow, the pupils going round from a slit.

“You don’t belong here,” they said, voice low and smooth, and crouched. Svarla didn't even have time to bring Parhelion up before they leaped at her and -

Svarla gasped awake, frantically scrambling backwards, the image of the being's gleaning fangs just behind her eyes. Her heart was pounding.

Eagle, beside her, stirred; she'd been curled up against Svarla's side, head against her ribcage, and she blinked awake after a few seconds. “Mmhm?” She said, flicking her crests up in confusion.

Svarla heaved in a few breaths, trembling. Eagle reached out and placed one hand on her arm. She frowned. “What's happening?” She whispered, eyes going clear and hard in seconds.

“Nothing.” Svarla shook her head. “Nothing. Just a dream.”

Eagle wriggled up to her again and nosed under her chin. “Your heart is quick,” she said. “That's the third time this month. What is it?”

Svarla frowned at the bedspread. “Nothing,” she repeated. Eagle made a dissatisfied sound and flicked her crest against Svarla's ear; she sighed and hung her head. “...it was - it was another dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“...” Svarla paused.

_ “Your dreams,” Chathranda said, eyes boring into Svarla’s. They were filled with light, brilliant and unforgiving and clever and ancient and unknowable. “We want to use them.” _

“...yeah. It’s nothing.”

Eagle took a breath and laid her head on Svarla’s shoulder, letting out in a long hum. “I don’t like,” she said, “when you’re scared.”

Svarla was silent. She kept taking deep, even breaths, trying to slow her heart down, trying to calm herself.

“Are you gonna walk around or go back to sleep?” Eagle asked.

Svarla swallowed. “Walk,” she said.

“Want me to come with you?”

“...no, not this time.”

Eagle nodded and slipped back a bit. Svarla climbed out of the bed - her bed, in her room, in the palace in Ruval where she lived - and pulled her boots on, then took Parhelion from where it rested on the table nearby. She buckled the belt around her waist and took another breath, rubbing her hands along her scalp. The image of the skull’s fangs tearing towards her in her mind’s eye made her heart jump.

She nearly asked Eagle to come with her… but the elf wouldn’t be able to help, and as Svarla turned she saw Eagle slip, catlike, into the warm spot she’d left behind and curl up again, wriggling to press herself into the pillows. She shook her head and left the room, closing the door as softly as she could behind her.

It was dark; the moon was nearly full, casting pale light over the entirety of the palace. The hallway Svarla strode through was drenched with moonlight; she passed by Samundra’s door and began to slowly pace the hallway, up and down, up and down. She was right next to the Monarch’s room, ready and willing to fight if anything happened. There was even a door connecting the two in case assassins got in and tried to prevent her from assisting them.

This was not the first dream. Eagle was right; this was the third dream she’d had this month, all in a similar vein, all ending a similar way; but the first two she hadn’t seen her attacker, only heard them, then felt them hit her. Which was… odd. She didn’t feel pain, not in real life; but in her dreams, she could feel it when those fangs ripped into her flesh.

Turn, back down the hallway. She shivered. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all, and she knew it wasn’t just a dream. She’d given the elves her dream-spaces a year and a half ago in return for Samundra’s location, and now she was finally paying the price.

...probably.

It wasn’t certain what was happening. She had no idea if she was right or not; she’d had other, stranger dreams, but none that frightened her so, and none that came back like this one had.

Turn, back down the hallway. Parhelion hummed at her side, comforting, and she kept one hand on the warm hilt of the sword, letting it reverberate in her bones. In the dreams, it was there, but she was never quick enough with it that it could help her. She was never quick enough.

Why? What did it mean? Did it even have to mean anything? They were recent dreams. Perhaps they’d go away.

She didn’t really believe that, either.

No one knew what her dreams were; she hadn’t told anyone, just had them. Previous to this she’d had nightmares - horrible ones, usually with Lady Allweather or Sir Ilian or other people from her past, usually ones that made her writhe in her sleep to where she ended up with bruised limbs unless Eagle held her and whispered to soothe her while she slept - but these were different. These weren’t of her own making. These weren’t corruptions of her own memories; they were something else.

Turn, back down the hallway. She’d never seen a forest like the one she saw in these dreams. It was strange, unfamiliar, and she didn’t know where she could have gotten something like that in her mind - she knew that all dreams were made up of things one had already seen or could imagine. She’d never even come across anything like that lush landscape.

Was it a real place? The dreams started with a place she did recognize, the warm forest near Cruscefex, near her home. But they turned into… that other place. The one she didn’t know.

She hoped it was just something she’d heard of and forgotten. She didn’t like it, and the idea that the elves were doing this to her was uncomfortable at best. She didn’t know what Chathranda had meant when she’d asked for her dreams. If this was it…

...no, she didn’t regret it. Not at all - she’d gotten Samundra onto the throne, after all, and saved Kendali from the murderous Ventashi queen who had tried to take it. Her dreams were worth at least that.

But the heady air of the forest made her skin prickle. She felt ever so slightly dizzy thinking about it, and shook her head, the fangs flashing through her mind again.

Turn, back down the hallway. She folded her arms, hugging her midsection, and ran her fingers over the scar on her right side, where a Ventashi soldier’s sword had sliced through it long ago. Eagle had saved her life then, half-dragging her out of Blackrock Fort and bringing her to Dawnvale.

Eagle. At Dawnvale, she’d given up her immortality in return for her freedom. Neither of them knew how long she had left to live; it could be days, it could be centuries. They didn’t know what the elves considered a shortened lifespan. But Svarla had finally seen the mark it had left on her, the mark hidden beneath the soft feathers on her chest and shoulders; the deep, black, lightning-patterned fractals that spread over her skin, pulsing occasionally like a living thing, a parasite draining her of life. She hadn’t even known the marks were here until Svarla had spotted them and traced them to the dark star-patterned center, like a blast crater.

She claimed it didn’t hurt.

Turn, back down the hallway. Eagle didn’t know what her nightmares were, only that she had them. Perhaps she should tell her. The strange creature - maybe she would know what it was.

If it was even real.

There was always a chance it was a fabrication of her mind, something she’d made up. But if that was true, why did it dislike her so? Why did it attack her?

She shook her head. No - this was ridiculous. She was treating the monster like a living creature, and not a dream, a fragment of a dream. It wasn’t real.

The air steamed when she breathed out; it was fall turning towards winter again, and the nights were getting too cold to stroll around in without more than just her sleep-clothes and boots. Parhelion kept her warmer than she otherwise would have been, but...

Turn, back down the hallway. She realized her fear had made her skin damp with sweat; it had dried now and she shivered, missing the warmth of her bed. She took a few quicker steps and made it to her door. Her fear had mostly abated, and she opened the door again and slipped back through, closing it quietly after her.

Eagle was warmer than she was, anyway. She was still there, but as Svarla entered she saw the glitter of Eagle’s eyes from amongst the pillows; she was awake, still.

“That was quick,” she murmured, as quietly as she could.

Svarla shrugged, pulling her boots off and replacing Parhelion where it went on her bedside table. “Dreams tend to be,” she said.

“You feeling better about that now?”

“Mm-hmm.” Svarla sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, looking at the floor for a moment. “Hope I don’t have it again.”

Eagle said nothing, but pulled herself out of the heap she had somehow collapsed into and scooted over, resting her chin on Svarla’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep,” she said, and kissed Svarla’s jaw, ever so lightly.

Svarla turned and caught her mouth, fingers up to touch her chin, and smiled against her face. “Fine,” she said, into the soft corner of Eagle’s lips. “Since you asked.”

Eagle tugged on Svarla’s shoulders. “Come on. It’s cold and I’m tired.”

“Alright, alright.” Svarla fell back onto the bed and pulled the woven blanket over herself, and felt Eagle settle down as well, pressing against her side, warm as always. She thought for a moment of the fangs of the dream-creature and felt her pulse increase for a moment, but Eagle shifted against her and laid her forehead against Svarla’s neck and hummed softly, and the image dissipated like mist.


	2. An Invitation to the South

Autumn in Kendali was disjointed, strange; it changed every day, and felt differently depending on where one was, in one province or the next, in forest or desert or hills.

In Ruval, it manifested in a changing of the colors of the trees, a gradual shift from a rolling landscape of green to a tapestry of oranges and reds, magnificent spreads of color that stretched all the way from the capital to the western end of the country, where it met the Wildlands. Frost began to curl on the windowpanes every night and melt in the early sun.

It was then that they received a courier from the Chalavan Empire.

She came up from the south, all the way across the White Grass River and through Silvar, riding on a long, lithe creature with short brown fur and creamy white stripes that could bound along the ground or leap and climb as easily as it breathed, its long striped tail whisking behind it. She brought her beast all the way through Kendali’s forests and into the capital city, to the palace, to deliver her message to the Monarch.

“Majesty Padhrudah,” she said, kneeling before Ulmey as they lounged on their throne. “I bear an invitation from the Empress Eternal.”

Svarla was standing behind Ulmey, at their right side, armor and and sword humming at their hip. Eagle stood on Ulmey’s other side, for symmetry, dressed on a long coat and bearing no weapons. The two of them exchanged a glance, then looked back to the courier.

She was dressed in sweeping robes of scarlet, blue, and yellow, the embroidery mimicking feathers in its patterning. Her skin was dark, darker even than Ulmey and Svarla’s skin, a deep rich brown. Her eyes were the same shade, but her face was differently shaped - flatter, broader, with a hooked nose and high-set eyes. Her deep black hair she wore pulled back under a band of red cloth. She was offering up a scroll, sealed with wax.

Ulmey beckoned. “Well, let’s see it,” they said, and the courier brought it up to them. They leaned forward and took it and broke the seal, unfurling it.

Svarla could read it over their shoulder. It was first written in the glyph-letter Chalavan language, and again in the alphabet of Kendali: an invitation for the Monarch to join the Empress Eternal for a ceremony called the Resetting of the Years, a celebration of time and the passage of the sun and moon, as well as the flourishing of the Empire. It had been hundreds of years since the last one.

It would be rude to refuse, and as Ulmey read it, Svarla could see the excitement prick in their eyes. “Excellent,” they said. “What an opportunity!”

One of their advisors stepped forwards. “Majesty,” he urged, “you are needed here. Send an ambassador, someone to represent Ruval.”

Ulmey opened their mouth to argue, then shut it again. They looked dismayed for a moment, then shook it off. “You are right,” they sighed, looking to the floor. “You’re right. Svarla, you will go.”

“What?!”

“You will represent Ruval, and me,” Ulmey said.

“But I am to be here - I am to guard you!”

“And now you will stand in for me. I have to stay here. I have to rebuild my country. I’ll be safe; I can handle myself.”

Svarla pursed her lips. “Very well,” she said, going dispassionate again.

“I must warn you,” the courier said, looking up with a hint of a smile. “It is much warmer in the Empire than it is here.”

“It’s autumn,” Ulmey said, with a shrug. “I’m sure it can’t be that stifling.”

Eagle and Svarla glanced to each other again. Eagle raised her eyebrows, expression going skeptical and amused, and Svarla did nothing.

They took a few days to prepare a small caravan - the courier both growing more and more impatient with every delay - and finally managed to set off after a full week of frantic hurrying about. Svarla wanted to just take Eagle and go, but since she was going to represent the monarch, she was going to have to go in full style. It was at least a smaller caravan than it would have been if Ulmey were with them.

They headed south, with the courier and her mount, through Kendali's south forests and into the White Grass River region. Past Kendali's border the weather began to grow warmer; the plainslands of Silvar rippled with autumn heat. The Queen's Road - named after Queen Shevani Padhrudah, one of the greatest leaders of Kendali of the past era - was not guarded, but it was maintained, and the roads across Silvar and into the Empire even had patrols that would ride it just for the purpose of protecting those that used it. Still, the caravan moved quickly, spotting lions in the distance more than once.

Once they'd crossed into the Empire, the courier relaxed somewhat. Her name was Hualhatl, and her mount was called Inyahnvari. She was a member of the Empress’ retinue of message-carriers and attendants, and served Her directly. From what they could learn from her - and it wasn’t a lot, because she was loathe to speak of the Empress beyond what they already knew - the leader of the Chalavan Empire was a wise, just personality, old as the basin itself and powerful.

Svarla was most curious about the Empire’s magic. She knew little of the Empire save that it was a vast southern reach and that it, above all other countries, was steeped in magic, in old power infused in the ground and the plants and the air. It got warmer, more humid, the mornings becoming thick with haze instead of clear and sharp with the oncoming winter. The further south they went, the more the seasons failed, fading into a backdrop of stagnant summer.

They crossed over where the mountains curved inland, skimming over the foothills, and curled down and around into the heart of the Chalavan Empire. This was three weeks after they had received the invitation, and as they crested the final peak and finally saw down into the basin, Svarla finally managed to grasp the full breadth of the Empire.

Before her, before the caravan, stretched a lowlands larger than any she had imagined; under the midmorning sun it stretched away through cloud-haze and mist and vanished over the horizon, a vast sea of green sinking down past the mountains. It rustled and swayed in wind that failed to clear the mist, stinking of fresh rain and heat and soil. Hualhatl’s lit up when she saw it and she breathed in the moist breeze, chest rising and falling, closing her eyes for a moment. “Home,” she said, face breaking into a wide smile.

The sun glistened on the trees below, massive even as they were below the caravan for now. Hualhuatl directed Inyahnvari downwards on a small path that cut back and forth across the mountain face, growing wider the lower it went, drenched in the sunlight and mist of the jungle below.

Eagle, standing beside Svarla, glanced over. “I would say we take a look,” she murmured, “but this isn’t our territory.”

“Right.”

“Let’s go with them, then.” She crouched and rippled into her monster-form, lean back legs and wings with hands at the second joint, a long neck and sharp-eyed face with a piercing yellow beak, hooked, and the same gray eyes as she always did. Svarla stepped up over her shoulders and sat there, feeling Eagle move strong and secure below her, taking her easily down the mountainside; her nimble form could easily clamber over the rocks, far more easily than any of the horses. Inyahnvari seemed to have an easy time with it too, simply clambering over the boulders and around the breaks in the pathway.

“Be ready,” Hualhatl called back, that smile still bright on her face. “We’re in the heart of the Empire. Soon you will see - your city was nice, yes, but small. Teiraxaul will amaze you!”

“Small?” Svarla blinked, baffled. “Ruval is the capital of the country!”

“Yes, I know,” Hualhatl said, waving a hand. “Small.”

Ruval was massive - it held thousands of people, had existed for hundreds of years. Svarla shook her head, bewildered. What could possibly make the capital city of Kendali seem small? Yes, this was an Empire, but… this was just a jungle, wild, untamed. Whatever city they could carve out of the rock and rain would surely not be as mighty as Ruval in its glory, in the golden age Samundra was bringing it into.

They spent another week fighting their way through the jungle, across a road that had not been used for caravans in decades. It rained constantly, and when it wasn’t raining the sun was battering the treetops with heat and turning the understory into a dappled mix of swirls of mist and spatters of brilliant, unrelenting light. Svarla felt it on her armor, sinking into the metal and making her glow in the shady areas; she caught Hualhatl looking sideways at her a few times, when she was glowing most brilliantly, and wondered what the courier saw.

On the sixth day after leaving the mountains they reached Teiraxaul.

It was just like when they’d crossed out of the mountains; Teiraxaul was in its own basin, sunk deeper into the lowland jungle, and they came upon it over a ridge in the jungle. Svarla had never seen anything like it before.

Hualhatl had been excited for the entire hour leading up to it. “You will see,” she had said, grinning at them. “You will see. Teiraxaul awaits.”


	3. The Journey to Teiraxaul

Svarla, on Eagle, climbed up a small slope alongside Samundra and Riptide, and with Hualhatl and Inyahnvari. They pushed through a thick set of broad-leaved cycads and onto the ridge, and looked outwards. The ground fell away at their feet, dropping downwards into a basin Svarla could not see the end of, and within it sat Teiraxaul, glittering and gorgeous - stone spires and pyramids bursting from the vibrant ground, massive trees shading wide avenues, multiple rivers snaking their way through the entirety of the city. Arched bridges passed over the waterways, roads connecting them to open squares between sets of stone and wood houses. The sun dried the cobbles of rainwater and sent steam curling up from the rooftops, through the leaves of the rainforest trees that towered above the buildings. 

From what Svarla could see, the city was split into four distinct quadrants, centered around one massive structure: a complex of intricate step pyramids and tall towers in the center of the city. From the tallest of those towers poured a river of water, droplets gleaming in the sunlight, in a white waterfall that crashed down into the center of the city and poured outwards. 

“The…” Hualhatl paused, cocking her head to the side, and translated. “The Acropolis Cascade,” she finally said, gesturing to the center of the city. “There dwells the Empress Eternal, ruler of our world.”

Svarla glanced over to Eagle, who was staring, stunned, at the city. It was blatantly obvious from this distance that all of Ruval could easily fit into one of the four wards of Teiraxaul. The city was truly massive.

“We will take the river into the city,” Hualhatl said, pointing downwards; there were faint disruptions in the canopy carpet where Svarla could see rivers likely came through. “A boat will come for us.”

“How do they know we’re coming?” Eagle demanded, glancing over.

In response, Hualhatl raised both hands to the light and narrowed her eyes. There was a moment where the buzzing of the forest seemed to grow louder, and then all of the sudden she thrust one hand upwards and there was a flash of brilliant red light flaring out from her hand - once, twice, many times, like someone turning a mirror in the sun. Svarla looked calmly at it as everyone else covered their eyes; the light did not hurt her.

Finally Hualhatl lowered her hand, and a faint reddish glow faded from her palm. “They know we are coming,” she said, smiling brightly at Svarla. “Let us go!”

The path down into the basin was well-maintained, wide and paved with stones so smooth they hardly jolted the caravan carts at all. It curled around towards the river, where into the shoreline was built a wide dock, deep brown wood stretching over the river, which was deep and startlingly clear. A series of boats were moored there, bobbing in the water.

“We will take these into the city,” Hualhatl said, gently nudging Inyahnvari as it paused to sniff at a chunk of dead wood by the side of the road. “We - come, Inyah - we will arrive in minutes. The ships will sail up the river.”

The river flowed away from the city. Svarla slid off of Eagle’s back and the elf shimmered easily back into her ordinary form. “I really wish I could take a flight over,” she muttered, as the boatman began to check over one of the slender vessels.

“That is not a good idea,” Hualhatl said, shaking her head. “You will be seen as disrespecting the Empress and Her deity.”

“...what?”

“You take the form of a deity,” Hualhatl said. “You do not have the authority to.”

Eagle opened her mouth to speak.

“Eagle,” Svarla warned.   


Eagle shut her mouth again.

The boatman of the first vessel called out in the airy Chalavani tongue; Hualhatl glanced over, then back to Svarla. “Board,” she said. “We will enter the city.”

“Everything’s gonna fit on those boats?” Svarla glanced back at the caravan as they began to transfer all the luggage on. “They won’t sink?”

Hualhatl raised an eyebrow. “They won’t sink,” she said, with a smile and a shake of her head. “They are more than ordinary ships.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You will see.” She rode Inyahnvari forwards. “Dismount before you step on,” she called, not doing that, as the giant coatimundi stepped over the rail.

Svarla and Eagle boarded the boat after her. It was long and broad, flat-bottomed and easily able to hold fifteen or twenty people - nearly the entire caravan. The second boat was to carry the luggage of the carts, which were to be left at the north docks for the caravan’s return.

The ships were dark mahogany and jungle wood, elegant, with rails engraved with carvings of serpentine creatures and slender-winged birds.

Svarla expected the boat to rock and sway, but it was surprisingly steady when she stepped on. Eagle stood at the edge of the ship, hands gripping the rail. Svarla stepped up next to her, looking out up the river as the rest of the caravan boarded. 

“What’s the matter?” Svarla asked.

Eagle shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m - this place. It’s got a strange feel to it. There’s… a lot here.”

Svarla had been feeling that, too. The longer she wore her armor, the more she could feel magic, pulsing against her skin, fluttering like a pulse or pounding as a river. Sometimes when she took her armor off it left a deep gold luminescence on her, glittering in her skin; that’s when she could feel ambient magic the most.

Here, she could feel a deep heartbeat in the land, thrumming against her and Parhelion. There was power here, ancient and steady and flourishing; she closed her eyes for a moment and managed to catch a flash of the song that magic made. A hundred thousand melodies, weaving in and out of each other, twisting through each line of every individual song, all perfectly in harmony.

Svarl blinked her eyes open with a gasp. Eagle glanced over.

“You see it too?” she asked.

Svarla shook her head. “I hear it,” she said.

“Ah.”

“Do you - do you see magic?”

“Sometimes.” Eagle looked up; the boat began to move away from the dock, heading upriver. “I see currents, patterns, figures in the sky. I see the wind carrying a thousand prayers to gods that listen. I see each one swimming through the sky, each unique, fur and scales and spines and feathers. I see it all.” She blinked and cast her gaze back down to the river. “Sometimes.”

The Chalavani ship was drifting sedately upriver, against the current. Svarla glanced up - there was no sail, and no one rowing. How was it…?

A soft wisp of magic brushed across her palms. She glanced down, then leaned over the edge, peering through the surprisingly clear water. For a moment she saw nothing - then she got a glimpse of movement, regular, and slowly began to pick out the form of clawed legs, like turtles’ legs, scaled and webbed, pulling the ship smoothly through the water.

“...how does that work?” Svarla said, mostly to herself.

Hualhatl stepped up next to her, no longer riding her coatimundi. “The boatman is controlling it,” she said, gesturing to the man kneeling in the center of the boat. He was stitching something into a piece of fabric, apparently not paying attention to his surroundings or the movement of the craft, but Svarla - now that she was looking at him - could feel the faint pulses of magic that emanated from him, in tandem with the movement of the turtle-legs.

“Can just - can anyone do this?” she asked, aloud.

“Teiraxaul is a place like no other in the world,” Hualhatl replied, grinning. “You have only seen the beginning.”

The river flowed out from the city, the waters remarkably clean. Svarla wondered about this.

Hualhatl had an answer for her there too - the rivers were not made for waste disposal, because they flowed out into the jungle. No, the rivers were there for movement, traffic, for drinking water. Wastewater was purified within the city, in a different set of carefully maintained sewers.

It was well beyond anything seen in Ruval’s streets. Svarla watched as they came around a bend and began to head towards the first buildings and docks and kept her mouth shut.

They were coming in from the west, at one corner of the city; this branch of the river flowed between the northwestern and southwestern wards of the city. The bank of the river transitioned from jungle foliage and mud to stone docks and canalways so smoothly Svarla hardly even noticed it; when she found they were sailing sedately upriver, surrounded by buildings, she had to stop and look behind her.

There were people on the banks of the river watching. Svarla saw several children run up from the depths of the city and wave at the boat as they went by; hesitantly, she waved back. She saw several of the children break into wide grins.

“They’ve never seen someone from Kendali before,” Hualhatl said quietly. “And they certainly haven’t seen an elf.”

Svarla glanced over at Eagle. She was standing there, mostly still, eyes flicking over the watchers on the shore. For a moment Svarla thought she was uncomfortable, but then she flicked her crests and fluffed up her feathers, much to the delight of several of the children. Svarla saw her smile, small and secret.

The canals split and joined in precise patterns, but it wasn’t strictly geometric - Svarla saw many curling canals split off and wind through the wards to her left and right, sweeping through the stone with murals of winged creatures and fish and life pressed into their sides.

People walked everywhere, alongside the canals and over them, many with animals - giant creatures like Inyahnvari, or tiny things clinging to their shoulders, miniscule squirrels or colorful birds. Someone with a macaw riding on their shoulder was striding down the center of a stone-street, flanked by uniformed guards. Everyone else seemed to be getting out of their way.

“Who was that?” Svarla asked Hualhatl, craning her neck to try and see them as the boat went by. “Someone important?”

Hualhatl nodded. “Likely a member of the Cuatlehua family. They are likely here to speak with the Tlachi, as to your visit.”

“Our visit?”

“Yes. You are a representative of Kendali, of the northern plainslands and forest; you have not visited us in decades. We are delighted to have you here! The Empress Herself has been eagerly looking forwards to this.” Hualhatl smiled again. “That, and the Setting of Years. It is a big event, a big deal for everyone in the city. It’s all very exciting!”

“What -” Svarla paused, frowning. “What actually happens during the Setting of Years?”

“The sun is reborn,” Hualhatl hummed, glancing up. The sun above blazed down on the city. “And it is born again in glory. It is not a simple snuff of its light; it is an event that calls the gods into being.”

Light glittered off the canalway water. Svarla blinked a few times; she could hear a distant roar of some type, a strange thunderous booming that she couldn’t place. “...oh,” she said, in response to Hualhatl. She wondered why the hell Ulmey hadn’t come for this. “Majesty Padhrudah should be here.”

“Yes, they should,” Hualhatl said, with a sigh. “It is understandable why they could not, but very rude. You have come and that has made up for it, but it is still terrible that the Majesty could not view the Setting for their own.”

Svarla pursed her lips, keeping her mouth shut. It was Ulmey’s loss… and misstep.

Well, as she was meant to, Svarla would cover for her monarch’s flaws, and take care of the kingdom when Ulmey failed to. It was a duty of the Knight to both protect the monarch from enemies... and protect the kingdom from its monarch, if that were necessary.

What terrible thoughts. Svarla pushed them aside.

The ship kept heading up the river, the turtle legs pushing against the current smoothly. Eagle had her feathers fluffed up as big as she could make them go, staring wide-eyed at the city, and as they rounded another bend they came out into a much larger canal filled with ships of all sizes. The mahogany turtleboats were dwarfed by some of the cargo ships, but all other vessels quickly maneuvered out of their way as they sailed on through.

It was then Svarla saw the source of the roaring sound, which had been growing louder this whole time. Once the larger vessels had moved out of the way she could see before them the towering spires of the Acropolis Cascade, its white waterfalls springing from the massive stone obelisk at the peak. Svarla craned her neck back and saw the hole in the center of the stone, through which a few noonday rays of sun were streaming, turning the droplets of the waterfall to crystal.

The waterfall poured in three streams down the sides of the Acropolis, to the north, west, and south. They were entering the city from the east. The turtleboats curved around to the north of the western waterfall, keeping a distance from where the falls crashed into the canalway in a spray of mist. Behind the falls gaped an entryway lined with glimmering white lights, hanging next to the walls; Svarla squinted at them, but couldn’t tell what they were.

The boats slipped behind the fall and into the tunnel. It grew rapidly darker; the lights on the walls shed almost no luminescence. As they left the daylight behind Svarla realized there were lights under the water as well, gleaming up through the undulating surface; webs of white light flickered across the walls and ceiling, rippling as the turtleboats passed through.

And as quickly as they’d entered the darkness, they left it. It was as if they had passed through a curtain - one moment they were in the darkness, and the next they were in daylight, streaming down from the sun above. Arching above them were several stone struts and bridges that connected the outer walls of the pyramidal structure to the center, the stone that formed the base for the spire the waterfall poured from.

Svarla craned her neck back and looked up at the magnificent construction. She could see the glittering of curving glass that stretched above them, stained with splotches and lines of brilliant color that scattered the sunlight into multicolored dots that danced over the interior of the Acropolis.

The turtleboats continued, and Svarla looked ahead. Before them was another dock, stone that led to earth, the landing-point for their ships. Beyond that stretched a beautifully maintained garden, and further, the garden gave way to the stone structures that made up the Acropolis. Svarla saw the stone dip down into some type of hall that was quickly lost in the geometric walls, sunlight lancing through them, bouncing off sheets of falling water and mirrors. 

Eagle was staring upwards, open-mouthed, at the glittering light through the waterfall droplets and glass. Svarla glanced over and grinned at her, amused.

“Fantastic,” Eagle muttered, after a moment, and shook her head. She gave a faint smile. “It reminds me of home.”

Svarla blinked. Eagle had never mentioned her home before, not in any detail. Only once or twice had she ever given any indication of what it was like.

“Is this what Skyhaven was like?” Svarla asked.

“A little bit.” Eagle stared around. “Only a little. It was colder there.”

Svarla opened her mouth to ask another question, but the turtleboat paddled its feet backwards and the edge of it bumped against the dock, and Hualhatl stepped up and took their attention.

“Welcome to the Acropolis,” she said, grinning at them, and clicked her fingers. Inyahnvari trotted up and hopped over the edge of the turtleboat, sending a slight rock through it, and Hualhatl followed.

Svarla did as well, Eagle trailing behind her. The stones of the dock were flecked with chips of mica and patches of soft green moss, belaying the age of the place. Svarla took a breath and felt the deep magic of the area curl through her soul.

“It’s old,” Eagle said, frowning. “...older than Skyhaven.”

“What?!”

Eagle nodded. “That’s strange,” she murmured.

“Come!” Hualhatl said, turning to look over her shoulder and beckon to Svarla and Eagle. “No time to waste. The Empress wishes to meet you.”


	4. The Empress Eternal

Svarla had known this would happen, but was still caught by surprise. She had expected the Empress Eternal to be a little less flippant with her appointments than Ulmey was, but apparently, that was not the case.

Eagle pulled her head back and raised feathered eyebrows. “Alright,” she muttered, flicking her crests up.

She followed Svarla, who followed Hualhatl, as they headed along the dock and into the wide grassy area at the base of the first massive stone spire. Svarla glanced back at the boats, wondering if she should stay to help unload, but Hualhatl caught her looking and shook her head.

“No need,” the courier told her, holding out a hand. “They will take care of it. You have been assigned quarters already; everything of yours will be taken there.”

“What of Eagle?” Svarla asked.

“What of her?” Hualhatl glanced over at Eagle, one eyebrow raised.

Svarla glanced over to Eagle for confirmation; the elf nodded. “She stays with me,” Svarla said. “Put her things with mine.”

“Understood,” Hualhatl replied, nodding. “I will let the servants know.”

The entryway to the spire was an open doorway, an arch set with colored glass. They passed underneath and into a tall, hollow building, light streaming through the glass windows and walls, pouring down on a verdant plantscape below. Vines curled up the walls and climbed arching buttresses within the spire, and everything from ferns to full-sized trees grew within this giant terrarium. Svarla had never seen anything like it.

Hualhatl caught her staring up at what looked to be some type of evergreen - how did it live here? It was a plant Svarla was certain she’d seen on the coast, in the moist stretch of the Skaldring where it met the coast in Esterly - and laughed out loud, dark eyes shining. “You are surprised,” she said. 

“This plant doesn’t grow here!”

“It was a gift from a visitor long ago,” Hualhatl explained, gesturing towards the redwood. “She brought it when she visited the Empress. It was some type of noble. A princess?”

Svarla frowned. “Esterly hasn’t had monarchs in over three hundred years.”

“Mm-hm.” Hualhatl nodded. “A princess, yes.”

“...it’s that old?”

Hualhatl laughed out loud. “Things live longer here,” she said, looking at Svarla through the corner of her eyes. “You will learn, soon.”

Svarla went quiet.

Hualhatl led them through the atrium and out into a small strip of lush ferns and grass that split it from the second spire, this one much larger. This one didn’t lead directly into a glass-walled greenhouse, but instead up a flight of stone stairs in a dark tunnel and -

\- out into a hallway, people hurrying back and forth. It was wide, perhaps three meters, and tall, with archways letting fresh air and light in, but it was unmistakeably the interior of a building. Svarla glanced back and forth as Hualhatl turned and began to stride briskly down the hall to the left.

“How?” Eagle muttered, glancing around. “This place is bizarre.”

Svarla only shrugged.

Hualhatl kept going, leading the two through a veritable maze of hallways - Svarla quickly became lost, despite her best efforts to keep her direction. She shook her head, baffled, as they climbed the fourth or fifth flight of stairs and came to a wide open area. It appeared to be an interior balcony of sorts overlooking a lush courtyard, and off to Svarla’s right she could see set into the wall a brightly lit alcove with a segment of floor polished so brightly she could barely look at it; it appeared to be reflecting the full midday sun.

“Come,” Hualhatl said, heading towards the alcove. Svarla frowned at it, letting the light spill past her eyes to see what it was. It was sunlight, yes, but there was something off about the floor…

“What is it?” she asked.

“You will see!” Hualhatl stepped into it and waited as Svarla and Eagle tentatively did the same. Eagle squinted and covered her eyes with one hand. Svarla felt the sunlight immediately sink into her armor, setting it ablaze with golden light.

When they were all in, Hualhatl grinned, raised one hand, and snapped her fingers. There was a brief, dizzying moment of utter weightlessness, and the world lurched around Svarla; she stumbled in place and had to reach out and touch the wall.

“Good,” Hualhatl said, nodding in approval. “You didn’t fall!”

“No?” Svarla frowned. Hualhatl stepped out of the light and strode off again, and Svarla looked after her, confused.

Wait. That wasn’t the same balcony as before. That was different, that was -

“What’s happened?” Svarla called, somewhat alarmed, as she hurried to follow Hualhatl and Eagle followed her.

“We’ve gone up,” Hualhatl replied, nodding, and gestured off to her right as they passed by one of those arched windows. “Look!”

Svarla looked, and felt her heart stop for a second. They were hundreds of meters above the ground, and below she could see the entirety of Teiraxaul laid out, spreading over miles and miles of forest. She could hear the roar of the waterfall, quieter now that they were further away from its impact point, far up close to where it leapt from the stone circle atop the Acropolis.

“How?” Svarla managed.

“That is one of the many magics of Teiraxaul,” Hualhatl said casually, with a shrug, but Svarla caught the broad grin stretched across her face. “You are not used to such things! Forgive me for my laughter. This is  _ highly _ amusing.”

Svarla shut her mouth.

Eagle stopped to poke her head out and look down the side of the spire - they were so far up they could barely see the turtleboats and the docks they’d come in through, floating as miniscule shapes on the glittering river. From Svarla’s estimation, they were perhaps three hundred meters up.

“Gods around us,” Eagle breathed, looking around, then up. Above, sparkling droplets of water spat out from the river’s breachpoint, dissipating into mist before they hit the ground far below. The mist kept the foliage of the grounds and greenhouses alive and well.

“Come along!” Hualhatl called, still grinning, as she turned around to beckon and walk backwards. “No sense in waiting!”

Svarla took a few longer steps to catch up; she heard Eagle hurry up by her side again. They headed around the edge of the spire and up another flight of stairs, and from there, down a long hallway that turned out to be a covered bridge leading from the top of the step-pyramid to another, even taller stone spire. Svarla tried not to look down, and tried to stop herself from grabbing Eagle’s arms when she poked her entire upper half out the window to see down.

“Be careful,” Svarla muttered once.

“Relax,” Eagle said, rolling her eyes. “I can fly.”

The new spire was quieter - the roar of the waterfall was audible, but just barely. There were less people here as well, and those that scurried through these halls were finer-dressed than the rest of the Acropolis staff, in finer-woven cloths with brighter colors. The stone floors were covered in long rugs, immaculately clean, and potted plants lined the walls, given just enough light that the interiors of the halls were filled with blooms.

There were no side hallways now. Hualhatl took a deep breath, put her shoulders back, and led Svarla and Eagle down a long, brilliantly lit hallway roofed with glass and lined with vines that sprouted cream-colored flowers, filling the air with a heavy scent that reminded Svarla of vanilla. There was a short stairway leading up into a more brightly lit area, but before Hualhatl started up the stairs, she stopped and turned to Svarla and Eagle.

“Follow my lead,” she said quietly, looking between them, “but do not worry. You do not know our customs; it is alright, we do not expect you to know how to properly greet the Empress.”

With that and a sharp nod, she turned and started up the stairs again.

Svarla and Eagle exchanged a glance and followed.

There were only nine or ten steps this time, and they were wide. Emerging up through the floor, Svarla had to blink a few times to get adjusted to the light.

They were in a massive chamber, four arching stone buttresses overhead supporting a truly enormous capstone - the stone on which the ring rested, the breachpoint for the river. Water cascaded down around it, breaking off the thick glass between the supports. The glass was mostly clear but stained occasionally with streaks of color - reds, yellows, greens. The sun beamed down and heated the room to an almost unbearable sauna. Plants flourished in the corners of the room, some growing straight out of the stone of the throne room floor, some in wide, shallow clay trays filled with soil or specially shaped pots.

And it  _ was _ a throne room. In the center, directly under that keystone and in the dead center of the room - unlike in any throne room Svarla had seen before now - was a dais, and on that dais were several servants attending and a carved stone throne housing the Empress Eternal.

It had to be her - Svarla felt it the second she walked in, and a glance over showed her that Eagle could see the power radiating from her. She was half-lounging in the stone on the cushions there, reading a book bound in brown leather, dressed in a set of deep green robes and a heavy stone crown.

It wasn’t a crown like Ulmey’s was, no circle of shining metal set with precious gems. It was gray stone, clearly weighing heavy on the Empress’ head, and unadorned save for several chips of bright jade, and places where long green feathers were set into the stone itself. They lay back against her dark brown hair, some of them falling in amongst the strands.

Brushed over that gray stone were hints of mosses or lichens, sprays of green over the carvings. Svarla tried to tear her eyes away, and looked down to the Empress’ face.

She had no idea how old the Empress was. She looked perhaps fifty, a proud face and calm gaze, deep brown eyes flicking quietly over the words of the book she was reading. Her ears were pierced - and her nose, and some of the skin on her chest, with curved needles of bone and gray stone, and in several places with what looked to be birds’ talons or jaguar claws. Around her neck lay a second piece of stone jewelry set with more jade, though lacking the feathers; this one was slightly fancier than the crown, and had a few glittering inlays of gold.

It was the jade that was the most important, though. Svarla could tell; it held the centerpoint of the carvings, people with hands uplifted to show off feathers carved from that jade.

Sitting on the back of the Empress’ throne, as an additional crowning glory to her quiet, massive power, was a bird. Its feathers were a shimmering, iridescent green-blue, and its breast and belly were brilliant red. Long green plumes stretched down from its tail; the same plumes that hung from the Empress’ crown.

She looked up as Svarla and Eagle entered. They were silent; she held still, the book in one hand, the other resting on the arm of the throne.

Hualhatl knelt before her. “Empress,” she said, and then slipped into a language Svarla did not understand, breathy words and long, sighing strings of syllables.

The address went on for a startlingly long time, but at some point Hualhatl switched back to Svarla’s tongue and looked back to her.

“The Empress awaits your greetings,” she said.

“Hualhatl,” the Empress called, distracting her. Hualhatl turned as the Empress closed her book and held it out; one of the servants standing by took it and held it quietly.

Hualhatl bowed her head. The Empress stood in a smooth movement, spreading her hands out, and stepped down off the dais stairs to the ground. Standing on level stone with Svarla and Eagle, she was at least a foot and a half taller than either of them. Svarla couldn’t be sure, but she was likely taller than Ulmey as well.

“Welcome to Teiraxaul,” the Empress said, with a soft smile. “Welcome to the Chalavan Empire. I trust your journey was easy, and that you passed through no harm on your way here?”

Her voice was low, smooth, scraping at the bottom of her register but carrying a heavy thrum to it that seemed to make the air vibrate. Her words, spoken in the common tongue of Kendali, were accented but clear. Svarla couldn’t help herself - she dropped to one knee, bowing her head, and felt Eagle beside her do the same.

The Empress laughed, but it wasn’t mocking - it was friendly. “That isn’t an answer,” she said.

“It was - yes, your Imperial Majesty,” Svarla said, stumbling over the words. “It was no trouble at all. Hualhatl served as a capable guide for us.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Empress said, shifting her gaze slightly over to Hualhatl, who was still kneeling as well. “I sent her for a reason.”

“We are honored to be in your presence, Empress, and are honored to have been invited to this ceremony and join you in such celebration.”

“It is a shame,” the Empress replied, “that your monarch could not make it.”

“Majesty Padhrudah was unfortunately occupied,” Svarla said, trying to keep the tight edge out of her voice. “They are watching over the rebuilding of their damaged nation.”

The Empress held out a hand. “Understandable,” she said, shaking her head. “You need not make any further excuses.”

Svarla nodded to herself.

“Rise,” the Empress said, “for it is difficult to speak when I cannot look you in the eyes.”

“Can’t look us in the eyes anyway,” Eagle muttered, just loud enough for Svarla to hear, and Svarla had to control her face to keep from smiling.

When she stood, though, and looked up, the Empress was looking to Eagle with her eyebrows raised. “True enough,” she said, with a smile. “You are… small, compared to me.”

“You - weren’t supposed to hear that,” Eagle said, bluntly.

Svarla winced internally -  _ Eagle, this was  _ royalty, _ you couldn’t just  _ speak _ to them like that _ \- but the Empress didn’t seem offended.

“I hear many things,” the Empress replied. “I must ask: are you a delegate from your Principality?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm.” The Empress tipped her head slightly to the side; the feathers on her crown shifted slightly. “It has been a very long time since any elves have walked the streets of Teiraxaul. You are undoubtedly a curiosity to my people.”

“I’m used to it.”

Svarla bit her tongue. It seemed that no one, not even her, would be able to convince Eagle to be respectful and proper to royalty.

“So it would seem.” The Empress had a response for everything Eagle said. “I hope the attention does not bother you. If you wish, you may remain inside the Acropolis at all times, rather than going in public with your knight. I assure you she will not be harmed.”

Svarla frowned slightly and stared at the Empress’ face. She was perceptive - more perceptive, even, than Svarla herself. How?

“I’ll stay with her,” Eagle said, glancing over. “If that’s alright.”

“Your Knight,” the Empress said, dipping her head and spreading her hands, “your rules. I must ask, though, that you not transform.”

Eagle stared. The Empress smiled again, folding her hands in front of her.

“I do not wish to impose, but your power is too close to that which would be considered offensive, or directly in opposition to the faith of the people. I know better, but they do not. Kindly, if you would, keep a restraint on your abilities?”

“How did you... ?”

“I can read your magic,” the Empress said. “You are in my city.”

The Empress was not what Svarla had expected, not at all. She was immensely strong, silent and stable and present, and simultaneously polite and authoritative. She was a monarch unlike any Svarla had ever met. Previously, she’d thought Samundra to be the epitome of the ruler, but the monarch of Kendali paled in comparison to the Empress.

It only made sense - the Empress was in charge of a country five times the size, with a capital city large enough to swallow Ruval whole, and she’d been in charge of it for who knew how long. Samundra was still new.

But the Empress carried an air of pure power. That was the only way Svarla could describe it; she had no idea what the Empress was capable of, but she was capable of it.

“Come,” the Empress said. “The Setting of Years isn’t for several days at least. You will have time to experience the Acropolis and perhaps, if you like, tour the city.” She smiled. “There is a lot to see.”

“The place is huge,” Eagle said, and from the hitch in her sentence, Svarla could tell she’d nearly spat out a swear word in front of the Empress and barely managed to swallow it. “I’ll  _ bet _ there’s a lot to see.”

“My servants will show you to your quarters.” The Empress took a breath of the heavily perfumed air. Above them, the river continued to leap from its breachpoint and spatter off the glass of the throne room, shattering into a shower of crystalline droplets as it fell past. “We will have a welcome feast tonight. If you are weary from your journey - and I am guessing you are - do not worry, you do not have to make speeches or entertain. This is simply a welcome; nothing much is expected of you.”

Svarla nodded. “Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, bowing her head again. “We are again honored for this chance and grateful for your hospitality and kindness.”

Hualhatl bid the Empress a formal farewell in the tongue of the Empire, and then led Svarla and Eagle back down the stairs, away from the Empress. Svarla did not look back.


	5. Guest of Honor

“She,” Eagle started, as she lay on the large bed in their quarters, “is one hell of a person.”

“What did you see?” Svarla asked, picking up a full-sized trunk and moving it to the other side of the room, peering over it to ensure she could see where she was going.

“On her?”

“Yes.”

Eagle paused. “A lot,” she finally said, quietly. Her voice was awed, still, and Svarla waited patiently, setting the trunk down and standing by it. “She… everything in this realm answers to her. Uh, everything in the city. A lot in the realm. It’s like - hmm. It’s like when you have a cloth, yeah? If people are holding a cloth, stretched out, and you take - oh, a stone. And you put the stone in the center of the cloth. It weighs it down. Anything else you put on the cloth will fall towards the stone.” Eagle pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking over to Svarla. “She’s the stone.”

“And this place is the cloth?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Svarla paused.

“She is incredible,” Eagle murmured.

Svarla had felt it too, but not to the extent Eagle had. The Empress’ power simply radiated from her like sunlight. “She’s like the sun,” Svarla said.

“Well, so are you, but in different ways,” Eagle immediately replied, with a shrug.

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious.”

Svarla unbuckled the strap on the trunk and lifted the lid, setting it against the stone wall. Eagle rolled over on the green bedspread and stretched out, grunting as her spine cracked.

“She is a ruler of a caliber I have never met,” Svarla finally said.

“Better than Ulmey?”

“Older,” Svarla said, carefully.

“Mm. True.” Eagle let out a little sigh as she curled up again, arranging herself into a loose crescent shape on the bed, spine curling far rounder than any human’s could. “I have no idea how old she is. Probably a lot, ‘cause her name is the Empress Eternal.”

Svarla shrugged. “Probably. I think it would be rude to ask.”

The room they were in was spacious, the floor covered in woven rugs and the walls hung with tapestries. One wall actually held an open archway that led out to a small courtyard - Svarla and Eagle had been given a room high on one of the top tiers of the step pyramid at the center of the Acropolis and thus had sunlight that streamed directly into their quarters. Eagle was also certain she could sneak out in the form of a small bird and go flying - the Empress had asked her not to transform, undoubtedly to her monstrous form at least, but she’d found no reason not to be something no one would notice.

Eagle scooted herself off the bed and came over to help Svarla move a box off of another trunk, this one smaller and lighter in color, that contained Eagle’s formal wear. The welcome feast was formal, so while Svarla and Eagle weren’t required to say or do anything, they were required to make an appearance, and it had to be a good one.

Svarla had brought several sets of the fanciest clothing she owned. It was all very uniform, outfits in proper military style and in the colors of Kendali (sand-gold, blue, and deep brown) and one specially all in the silky golds that matched Svarla’s armor. She’d save that one for a later date - there would be more important feasts, later on, and Svarla wanted to save her most cutting outfit for then. She removed one of the military suits and turned to see Eagle pawing through her own trunk.

It contained variations on her coat outfit, but Svarla caught sight of a glimpse of something else amongst the cloth - a tawny, lustrous material of some type, faintly patterned in the same set of colors as Eagle’s feathers. She laid a hand on it for a moment, then shook her head and covered it over with a coat.

“What’s that?” Svarla asked, curious.

“Nothing.” Eagle shook her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

She chose a deep brown coat, matching the brown of Svarla’s suit, and when they were summoned they proceeded to the feast.

To get to it, they had to travel down most of the pyramid, to the great central hall. By the time they arrived - taking another one of the strange, brilliant floor-sections that sent them up and down the pyramid - it was past evening, and they’d missed the sunset. But the night sky above Teiraxaul was brilliant despite the vast torchlit city, and the stars shimmered in the heat-haze of the jungle.

The feast was magnificent. The great chamber of the pyramid was, like the rest of the palace, ringed around the edges with plants, and much like with the outer atrium spires there were full-sized trees towering up from parts of the floor where the stone had been removed and the foliage was free to dig its roots in.

There was a banquet table - multiple, in fact, including a raised one where the Empress and her courtmembers and honored guests sat - and a massive, smooth-tiled ballroom floor. Svarla noticed that amongst the nobility present there were many fine outfits, but several different sets stood out to her - mainly, four specific color schemes that a number of the attending happened to be sporting. The first was the same set of scarlet, blue, and yellow that Hualhatl wore - she, too, was present at the feast, and remained at the high table with the Empress, Svarla, and Eagle - and indicated that they were members of her family, the Cuatlehua family.

The second were rosette-patterned black on a deep yellow-orange, or black on black, with accents of white and truer gold. This family was not one Svarla had seen before, and she wondered who they were. When she asked Hualhatl, the courier nodded. “Those are the Tlachi, the Jaguar family, who rule the northern ward. They train our warriors and hunters.”

“Warriors?” Svarla paused, frowning. “What do you need warriors for?”

“Guards for the city, and for our hunters, and for the roadways to other cities,” Hualhatl answered. She nodded towards a small cluster of Tlachi family members; some of them were wearing armor rather than robes, plates of some unknown material - not metal, not hide - patterned with the jaguar rosettes and accented with actual fur. “There are those that would hide in the jungle and prey upon the innocent; these protect those.”

Svarla nodded. “And - what about them?” She pointed towards another outfit she’d seen dominating the gathered, dressed mostly in browns and blacks, many in sweeping cloaks and hooded robes.

Hualhatl nodded sagely. “Those are Xaltenco, and carry the visage of bats. They are important; they are responsible for the dead. They rule the western ward.”

Svarla shivered, thinking of Lady Allweather. “Have they ever caused trouble?”

Baffled, Hualhatl looked over. “No? Of course not! They have a very important duty. Why would they…?”

“Last year, a necromancer destroyed our queen and took over our kingdom,” Svarla said, narrowing her eyes at the dark-cloaked figures. “I do not trust easily now.”

“They watch over the dead, but they try to keep them sleeping,” Hualhatl said gently. “They are no betrayers of the families that entrust their deceased to their care.”

Svarla nodded. “Right,” she murmured. “Right.”

“Perhaps,” Hualhatl muttered carefully, “we view our dead differently than you do.”

Wordlessly Svarla nodded her head.

“The last of the four families - here, look, over there - are Atlzcua, the servants of the serpent. They build and farm, and keep our city alive and well. They dig the canals; they deal with the earth.” Hualhatl pointed discreetly, indicating several people through the crowd dressed in browns, blues, and greens, shimmering cloaks that cascaded to the floor but did not hide their extremely well-cut uniforms.

“And these families - they… why are they important?”

“Each one rules a ward of the city, and controls their appointed part of the city’s workings. Many of them have family members on the councils, but only two of each family can be on any council.” Hualhatl pulled her head back so Svarla could see down the banquet table. Amongst the cloaked council members - and the Empress had four councils - were people bearing the distinctive colors and styles of the ward-families.

“I see.” Svarla stared. Baffling - they were assigned their duties. In Ruval, anyone could do anything. “What if someone of a family doesn’t want to be part of their family’s duties?”

“It is an honor to be part of one of the ward-families, but to deny that honor is no shame,” Hualhatl said, with a shrug. “Anyone can do what they please.”

Oh. Svarla blinked.

“Sounds nice,” Eagle said, from Svarla’s other side. Svarla glanced over; Eagle was eating something off of what looked to be a skewer, which she’d plucked off a passing serving tray.

“What is that?” Svarla asked her.

“No idea. So, like, what if someone from the um… what if someone from the Atlzcua family wants to be an undertaker?” She pronounced the name flawlessly.

“Then they can do so,” Hualhatl said, nodding, “if they choose to enter the service of the Xaltenco.”

“They can just do that?”

“Yes.”

“Even if they’re from a different ward-family?” Svarla raised her eyebrows, incredulous.

Hualhatl nodded. “Yes.”

“...huh,” said Eagle, summing up Svarla’s thoughts.

Svarla sat back a bit, thinking. It seemed… efficient, really, and she found herself wondering why Ruval didn’t have any sort of system like this. “There’s no pressure to always follow the ward-family calling?”

“There would be, but the families are very large, so there are many heirs,” Hualhatl said, with a shrug. “I myself am an heir of the Cuatlehua, but there are many of us, and I am a courier. My family can be couriers without stepping outside the boundaries of what we are appointed; I am acceptable to them as I am, without needing to change my name or calling. And,” she added, “even if someone leaves their ward-family’s appointed calling, they are still part of the family.”

Now that, Svarla had expected. “I see,” she said.

There were more than the four ward-families, obviously, but they were the most important people in the city, aside from the Empress and her councils. Her councils were sixteen members each, and she had four of them - a startlingly large amount of advisors. But each council had a speaker, as well, a seventeenth member, one unassociated with the councilmembers - and that speaker could not be a member of the ward-families. The councils - one of mages, one of politicians, one of city-runners, and one of priests - were all present at the feast, though a few members of each were called away to other duties.

Svarla learned so much new information by the the end of the night that her head was spinning, stuffed full of too many facts for her to remember. The Empress spoke to her people in the Chalavani tongue, a speech that Svarla did not understand, but Hualhatl translated it quietly for her.

She would have translated it for Eagle, but when she went to move between them, Eagle shook her head. “I can understand,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’m fine.”

“...you speak Chalivani?” Svarla said, baffled.

“No, but I do understand it,” Eagle replied.

“How?! You didn’t earlier!”

“I can tune to her,” Eagle murmured, and indicated the Empress with a flick of her eyes and a tilt of her head. “Her magic is in her language. I can understand what she says, and I can understand the words through her.”

Fascinating. Svarla listened to the words, tried to pick out common meanings - it was a welcome to Svarla and Eagle, and a notification to the city that they were going to be hosting these honored guests for days to come. Svarla and Eagle were bid stand at one point, and the gathered guests greeted them in a wave of soft-spoken words that washed over them like a tide.

After the feast Svarla and Eagle were escorted back to their quarters. Svarla could tell Eagle was tiring quickly - the day had been long, and she hadn’t had much of a chance to sleep.

“Gods around us,” Eagle said, when they closed the door to their chambers, “I’m tired.”

Svarla sighed and took off her jacket. Eagle pulled hers off as well, throwing it onto her trunk before flopping down onto the bed and sprawling loose-limbed and half-undressed over the green blankets. Svarla turned and paused, smiling at her.

“What?” she snapped, tipping her head backwards to get a good look at Svarla’s face.

“Nothing, nothing,” Svarla hummed, and stepped over long enough to lean down and kiss her forehead. Eagle let out a happy chirp and stretched out, closing her eyes.

Svarla paused, glancing down at Eagle’s chest. She was covered in soft, tawny feathers, but - just as she had seen before - there were dark fractal-marks that curled underneath them, in jagged tendrils over her skin. Svarla didn’t quite understand what those were and it worried her.

Eagle caught her looking. “Stop it,” she muttered, the pleasure fading from her tone. “Go look at something else.”

“Mh - sorry,” Svarla murmured, and turned away, hanging her jacket on a hook on the wall. She stretched and undressed, switching from her military suit into a soft set of linen sleeping-clothes, though she didn’t need them in this heat.

Despite the fact that she wasn’t used to the heat, it still didn’t bother her enough to keep her awake. She slipped into the bed and felt Eagle curl up at her side again, and within minutes, she was asleep.

* * *

“You again.”

She knew that voice. It was higher-pitched than she normally heard it, because normally she heard it in a furious growl. This time, it was simply… curious.

Svarla blinked her eyes open and found herself lying flat on that same smooth stone, in that dense jungle. And now she recognized it - it reminded her strongly of the jungle outside Teiraxaul, the thick trees and moisture and scent of decay and flowers. But it wasn’t quite the same. It wasn’t quite right.

She sat up quickly and looked around, and found watching her that same creature that had attacked her many times before. She shivered when she saw it, the dark hide and fur, the leaves that sprouted from its spine, the white bone of its skull. It was half-crouched at the edge of the clearing, long tail wrapped over its feet, hands propped on its knees, dangling just above the ferns.

“What do you want?” Svarla asked, immediately.

“What do I -” The figure paused, frowning, and cocked their head to the side. “You’re in _ my _ meeting-place.”

Damn. That was Svarla’s suspicions confirmed - someone was using her dreams. Chathranda? But Chathranda wasn’t here. “You’re in  _ my _ dreams!”

“Am I?” The figure paused again, looking down. “Hm. Sorry about that.”

“You keep trying to kill me!”

“I’m - it’s not real! And you keep coming back anyway.”

“I don’t have a choice! It’s my dreams!”

The figure held up a hand. “Please calm down.” The voice was even and lilting, much less frightening than the fearsome growl Svarla was used to hearing.

“No!” Svarla swung her legs off the rock and stood, reaching for Parhelion; as always, it was by her side, leaning against the stone. She drew it. “Why are you here?”

“Listen - oh, this isn’t - listen to me,” the figure said, also standing. Svarla realized with a start that they were several feet taller than her; the strange animal legs gave them more height than she’d counted on. “These don’t register as ‘someone’s dreams’ to me, they’re just a place I can use to try and contact the others,” the figure continued, holding their hands out. “That’s it.”

“...” Svarla narrowed her eyes.

“I’m just taking what I can get,” the figure said.

Svarla shut her mouth. “...fine,” she finally muttered. “But you do keep murdering me every time I’m here.”

“I didn’t know they were your dreams! I thought you were eavesdropping!”

“Eavesdropping?”

“You know. Listening in on me trying to -” The figure broke off and glanced around. “...to speak.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.”

“Shh.” The figure’s shining eyes blinked inside that barren skull as the figure twisted their long neck and searched around, and Svarla remembered with a start how those fangs felt ripping into her throat. “No more. It’s not - oh, hide.”

“What?”

The figure glanced to her again, then took several steps forwards and pushed her backwards abruptly, towards the greenery. “Hide!”

Svarla stumbled backwards into the bushes, and couldn’t argue. The figure whirled and blocked her from leaving the foliage, staring out towards the center of the clearing, and Svarla sat down hard in the ferns and went still.

Not a moment too soon. Abruptly, she saw a brilliant glow of rosy light pour into the clearing in a watery wash of color, filling the space with warm radiance and coalescing into a familiar form.

“Hello again,” Chathranda ril Whalthe said, forming into an undulating figure-eight in the air. She stared down at the figure with gleaming eyes as she swept back and forth.

“Prince,” the figure said nervously, and bowed their head. Svarla held her breath.

Something crunched through the brush on the other side of the clearing, distracting both the figure and the Prince, and Svarla took the opportunity to scoot sideways and roll herself partially behind the gray stone, out of sight. She worked Parhelion back into its sheath as quietly as she could and looked up after the crunching and breaking of branches were over to see, with a shock, the massive form of someone who looked frighteningly similar to Eagle.

“Scathe,” Chathranda said, pausing in her undulation for a moment.

Scathe bowed elegantly, sweeping his wings - extra limbs that protruded from his back - over the grassy ground. The clearing suddenly seemed a lot larger to accommodate his size. “Greetings,” he said, and his voice sounded so similar to Eagle’s that Svarla had to choke down a cry for a moment.

This could only be Eagle’s father, the Prince of Skyhaven. What were two elven princes doing in her dreams?

Along with this figure… could this be another elf? It had to be. But they didn’t look like any elf Svarla knew of.

Then again, she had yet to meet every elf from every Principality. They could be a stranger perhaps from the Abyss, or Wintercrest.

Fog drifted through the trees, pouring into the clearing, and through it came the Prince of Duskmeadow, glittering wings folded behind him. “Am I late?” he drawled, yawning and showing a long, forked tongue.

“Not at all,” Scathe said.

“Oh, good,” the Prince said, and flopped down on the air, lounging comfortably on nothing.

Two more arrived, at once - a woman in white robes with frost coating her skin and the lower half of some type of winterbeast from the far north, and a stout, grim individual made of stone and crystal, lines of ore running through their flesh.

“Who are we missing?” the Prince of Duskmeadow called, examining his fingernails.

“Rhaenveireth Myskal,” Chathranda said, sounding bored. “They are, as always, late.”

“You are just early,” snapped a final voice, from amongst the trees. From them came another elven Prince - and this one bore armor made from coral, a crown of pearl and abalone, and a battleaxe that looked very similar to Breakwater. “I am always on time.”

Chathranda rolled herself in a twist while doing her figure-eight pattern. It seemed to be a gesture mostly of annoyance.

“I’m - er - surprised you’re all here,” said the figure from Svarla’s dreams. They shifted in place, nervously. “Kaika, Nzeiren, you both came too?”

“Your line of communication is a beacon,” said the frosted Prince - Kaika. She sounded almost disinterested. “We figured it was only fair. You have been so desperately trying to find us this whole time.”

“Yes, well, it’s important,” the figure said, shifting where he stood.

“What do you want?”

“Help.”

Silence. Chathranda even stopped her eternal movement for a split-second, staring at the figure.

“That’s not… possible,” Nzeiren finally said, shaking their head. “You know that.”

“Please.” The figure took a shaky breath and let it out again. “I’m - we can’t take this for much longer.”

“If you want to handle this, you’re going to have to do it yourself,” Chathranda said, softly. “It is your realm, and your responsibility.”

Svarla desperately wanted to understand what was happening. Who was this elf that every Prince at once was willing to speak to?

Scathe stared at them impassively. “You’ve been fine for, what? Five hundred years?”

“We’re not fine!”

“You’re alive,” Myskal said, with a shrug.

“That’s not  _ fine _ ,” the elf said, huffing out a frustrated breath.

Svarla tried to figure out what was going on, mind racing. Who was this elf? What did he mean, fine? Why was he not fine? Where was he from?

“We need out,” the elf continued. “But we can’t do it on our own. We can’t! We need help!”

There was a long moment of silence.

Chathranda swirled around the edges of the clearing in a wide loop. Everyone else watched her go, and she finally swirled to a halt and looked past the unfamiliar elf, locking eyes with Svarla where she hid in the greenery.

“You’ve  _ got _ it,” she said.

Svarla woke suddenly, gasping, in the darkness. She hadn’t been attacked this time, but her heart was pounding. She sat up and stared at the wall, barely visible in the starlight.

Eagle, at her side, woke as well. “Again?” she murmured sleepily, blinking her gray eyes open.

Svarla said nothing.

“Svarla?” Eagle’s eyes went abruptly clear, shaking away the tiredness almost instantly.

Had what she just dreamed been real? Were those actually the Princes? Or had she made it up? Svarla shook her head. One way to find out. “Eagle,” she said, “what’s your father’s name?”

She felt Eagle go still. “Why?” the elf asked, voice hard and cold.

“I - please. What is it?”

“Why do you want to know. Why does it matter.”

“I had a dream. Please. Tell me. I need to know if it was real.”

“...Scathe,” Eagle finally said.

Svarla buried her face in her hands.

“What did you see?” Eagle sat up as well and leaned on her hands, leaning down to see up into Svarla’s hidden face. “What was it?! Why was it him?”

“Him. And others. It was all of them,” Svarla said, quietly. “Talking to someone else.”

“...what?”

“Talking to another elf.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t recognize them - they -” Svarla broke off. “I’m sorry. They’ve been in my dreams.”

“You know better than to think those dreams are just dreams,” Eagle said quietly.

“I should.” Svarla took a deep breath. “I do. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t like it. Something’s happening, Eagle, and I don’t know what.”

“Can we do anything about it?”

“I don’t think so - I mean, I don’t know -”

“Then go to sleep.” Eagle was uncharacteristically rude now, turning away and laying down again, facing away from Svarla. She was normally blunt, but not to Svarla.

Svarla didn’t answer, just lay back down. After a few moments she heard Eagle speak again.

“My father,” she said, quietly. “How did he look?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was he alright?”

Svarla thought about it. Scathe had been standing tall, proud and polite, every feather in place, expression calm. “He was fine,” she said. “He was polite, and formal.”

“Not distressed? Not hurt?”

“No, he - he looked okay. He wasn’t in danger or anything, don’t worry.”

Eagle paused for a moment. “Good to know he never cared,” she finally said, and went silent.

Svarla lay there for a while longer, staring at the ceiling in the dark, before she finally managed to fall asleep again.


	6. The Setting of Years

“The Setting of Years will take place in several days,” said the Empress, as she led them on a raised stone pathway across a wide chamber filled with quietly-but-not-silently working individuals, “and we know exactly when, as our scholars have told us.”

“You’re - wait,” Eagle said, hurrying to keep pace with the Empress’ long strides, “you’re telling me you just somehow know when the sun’s going to go out? Did the gods tell you?”

“No,” the Empress said, amused, and glanced at Eagle out of the corner of her left eye. “They use math.”

“Math.”

“Yes.” The Empress gestured - off to their left, a long, dark slate-stone wall stretched along the side of the room. It was completely covered in scribblings and numbers, strings of equations that Svarla could grasp for a split second but which quickly surpassed her understanding. Eagle shook her head at the numbers.

“No idea what that means,” she muttered.

“In four days’ time, near to noon, the Sun will be reborn,” the Empress explained. “We will watch it from the grand plaza.”

“Not the palace?”

“No. The people cannot reach the palace as easily as we can reach the plaza.” The Empress gently touched her heavy crown, smiling. “And my gods come with me, to my people.”

“When you say that,” Svarla said, nervously, “do you - what do you mean?”

“...your gods do not speak to you regularly?”

“Uh, no?” Eagle stared, expression caught somewhere between incredulity and shock.

“Strange,” the Empress murmured. She closed her eyes for a moment as she walked, tipping her head slightly back to catch some of the sunlight that bounced through the area, pouring in through the roof. “Here, the gods answer us when we call. They manifest to us, show us our futures, show us our past… and if we need it, they will speak through us, or our ancestors.”

“Through you?”

“I am the Empress Eternal,” the Empress said, “and I can call the gods forth in me if I must.”

Svarla went quiet.

“I don’t know what that means,” Eagle said quietly, looking down at the stone they walked on. “Will we find out?”

“I expect so.”

Eagle looked back to the Empress, frowning again. “What if it rains?” she asked.

Svarla had to keep herself from snorting a laugh. Trust Eagle to ask the questions no one thought of.

But the Empress’ answer surprised them both. “It usually would,” the Empress said, “but my mages ensure that it does not.”

“Your - what?!”

“My mages.” The Empress nodded to herself. “They part the skies so that we may watch the sun.”

“They control the weather?!”

“Indeed.”

Kishara would not suffer anyone altering her sky, Svarla thought, but it seemed that the deities of the Chalavani people had no such qualms.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Eagle muttered. “I - well, no, that’s not true. The elves can do it.”

“Ah, the elves,” the Empress said, with a smile. “If only we had met them before our Empire rose. They could have taught us many things, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

She swept a hand in front of her; for a moment, the scenery around them flickered, and Svarla could see through the walls, as if they no longer existed, to a vast jungle that surrounded them. “Before my people built this city, elves lived here,” she said, “in a kingdom of their own. But they departed when we arrived, and now, we cannot find them. Sometimes, we still search for them in the vast expanse of the jungle. But we have never found them.”

Svarla almost stumbled as she walked. Elves? Here? The figure from her dreams burned in her mind, eyes peering out from inside a clean bone skull, antlers curling up behind them. Soft fur, sharp claws, a worried, angry, fearful voice. Chathranda’s words, and her brilliant eyes, her verdict: the help that the stranger sought came in the form of Svarla herself.

There were elves somewhere in Chalavan’s jungles. And they needed her help. “Tell me,” Svarla said, “have you had any word of the elves since?”

The Empress raised an eyebrow towards her, and Svarla stumbled over her own words. “Er - I apologize for my casual nature, Your Highness. I simply - am curious.”

The Empress’ eyes, dark as night, searched Svarla’s mind, and she could almost feel the Empress skimming over her thoughts, trying to discern her intentions. “We have had none,” she said, “though I wonder what is it you know of the elves that interests you so.”

“I’m also wondering that,” Eagle said, looking sideways at Svarla.

“Just a passing interest,” Svarla stammered. “It seemed odd to me that there were six Principalities in existence surrounding Kendali, but none south, in this verdant place.”

“Hmm. I see,” the Empress said. “Alas, no. We have found no trace of them. My scouts and archaeologists have scoured the jungle around the basin for decades, and found no hint of the elves’ passage. Studies of the area by my mages have revealed that the elves left some residual magics in this place; perhaps they once dwelt here? That may be why the city stands still, even though it is on rock that should have worn away with the water into a cenote lake long ago.”

No sign of them at all? Svarla frowned, pondering the issue. If they weren’t here, why would they be in her dreams? There had to be someone here. Someone who needed her help. She knew it.

But the Empress did not. She wondered if she should bring it up, tell the Empress that there was someone nearby asking for help. But what if the Empress was doing something to them, something that was causing them to cry for assistance? What if she was the cause of their troubles?

There was no way for Svarla to be sure, so she said nothing. “Strange,” she said, and did not pursue the matter further.

“It is, indeed. Still, perhaps if you have scholars who have studied the movements of the elves in the past, we could share information with them, and learn more about the history of our land?” the Empress said, tentatively.

“Cooperation furthers progress,” Svarla replied. “I am certain Majesty Padhrudah would be willing to arrange such a thing.”

“Excellent. It will be one of many message you bring back to your monarch at the end of your visit,” the Empress said, with a soft smile. “You have much to tell her, after the Setting of Years.”

Indeed she did. Svarla kept her thoughts to herself. She would bring that news to her monarch, yes, but she was more worried about the lost elves. They were somewhere, she knew it. She would just have to find them.

And she’d have to do it before she left, which would be a week or so after the Setting of Years. Once the sun went out, she had only a few days to solve this mystery, to render the aid requested of her.

Somehow, she doubted that it would be as easy as telling a scholar to share notes with the Emrpress’ scientists. There would be more for her to do. And in her heart she felt that, whatever this trial was, it would begin when the sun went out.

* * *

“Here see my people,” the Empress said, spreading her hands to indicate the vast crowds gathered around the smaller ziggurat. Her quetzal, perched on one shoulder, flared its wings for balance. “They await the rebirth of the sun! They are waiting for the world to continue.”

Svarla swallowed nervously, keeping her expression neutral as she looked over the throng. People filled the public square from edge to edge, a multicolored tapestry of moving bodies. The midday sun glittered off Svarla’s armor, and she could feel Parhelion thrumming happily at her side, drinking in the light.

“When will it happen?” Eagle asked, glancing around. “When will the sun go out?”

The Empress smiled. “Do not do as I do,” she said, tipping her head back and staring directly up into the sun. “It will hurt you.”

Svarla couldn’t help herself - she also looked directly up, and  _ looked _ past the light, filtering it out. Eagle didn’t look.

“It has already begun,” the Empress said.

Confused, Svarla squinted at the sun. It just looked like itself, a brilliant yellow orb, shining with - 

...no. Wait. There.

On one edge of the sun there was a tiny spot missing, a little bite carved neatly out of its glaring edge. Svarla gasped to see it.

The Empress looked over. “Interesting,” she said, tilting her head slightly to the side. “You aren’t hurt?”

“No.” Svarla shook her head. “I was forged in light.” She touched Parhelion’s pommel, feeling a shock of recognition go humming through the metal as she touched it.

The Empress nodded. “I forgot,” she murmured. “Elven-made. You certainly are remarkable.”

“What’s happening?” Eagle hissed, scooting closer to Svarla to speak directly into her ear.

“A part of the sun is gone,” Svarla replied.

“That’s not good!”

“Don’t worry,” the Empress laughed, shaking her head. “It isn’t gone. Only hidden.”

“Hidden?”

“The moon crosses between us and the sun now, and casts its shadow down upon us,” the Empress explained. “That is why the sun goes dark. When the moon is in place, fully, we will see light that ordinarily is hidden from us; we will see the full glory of the sun in its rebirth.”

“So the sun doesn’t actually go out?” Eagle asked.

“It does not.”

“Oh.” Eagle paused. “Well, that’s a relief.”

The Empress nodded. “Please, sit,” she said, indicating the furniture that had been arranged atop the ziggurat. “It will be some time before the sun fades away entirely.”

“How long?”

“Perhaps an hour.”

Svarla blinked. “Longer than I thought,” she said. “And this happens…?”

“Every few centuries or so,” the Empress finished, nodding. “Change takes time. Cycles are reborn again and again. Our nation has existed for thousands of years. The sun will be reborn, and it will not be instantaneous.” She smiled. “But it will be  _ fascinating. _ ”

“Have you performed this ceremony before?” Svarla asked, seating herself in one of the wicker chairs.

“I do not  _ perform _ this,” the Empress corrected, shaking her head. “It simply happens, and I am here to watch. But I have seen it before.”

“...when?”

“Several hundred years ago.”

“You were Empress then?” Eagle said, astonished. “You live as long as an elf does?”

“How long do elves live?” the Empress replied, turning her face to look curiously towards Eagle.

“...until they die,” Eagle said, after a moment.

“Ah. No, then I do not. I am Eternal, but in a way that applies to humans.” She smiled ruefully. “I am two-hundred forty-two.”

Svarla had to stop herself from gaping. “Oh,” she managed.

“It is the blessing of those that rule the Empire that we are given long lives,” the Empress explained. “That is why we carry the name we do.”

Tipping her own head back, Svarla took another look at the sun. The tiny little bite out of the edge seemed like it could be fractionally bigger, but she couldn’t quite tell. She looked back down to the Empress, blinking her eyes to readjust them. “Do the gods give you your life?”

“Yes.” The Empress nodded. “Atacansah in particular.”

“Atacansah?”

“The quetzal deity, the symbol of the royal blood.” The Empress, now seated, transferred her quetzal from her shoulder to her hand and held it out. It sat calmly on her fingers. “These birds - do you know why they are so valuable?”

“No.”

“You can harvest their feathers without harming them, and they are hard birds to capture. But you cannot keep them. Confined, they will die.”

“But you have…”

“Yes.” The Empress smiled. “With us, royals that carry my blood, the quetzals are comfortable. They will not die with us.” She paused, tilting her head slightly to the side. “And this is not an ordinary bird. It lives with us; it is touched by Atacansah’s power.”

“What does that mean?”

“You will see.” The Empress moved the quetzal to the back of her throne; it shuffled along the stone and fluttered its wings, then began to preen. The Empress herself reached into one of the pockets of her robes and pulled forth a tight curl of paper, tied shut with a fine green string, the creamy parchment stained with dark reddish-brown. If Svarla hadn’t known better, she would have thought it was blood.

...actually, she didn’t know better. It was entirely possible that it was blood.

“What’s that?” Eagle asked, blunt as always.

“Incense,” the Empress said, without looking up. She leaned forward and placed it into a small stone cup that rested by the foot of her throne. “I will burn it when the sun dies, to call forth Atacansah from my own blood and give him freedom to fly.”

Svarla was startled by how calm the following hour was. About halfway through, she began to notice that the temperature was falling - the air had previously been hot enough to make her sweat, but now was in a comfortable range. She looked up and saw with a shock that while she had not been paying attention, half of the sun had been devoured by the black shadow of the moon.

“Oh,” she said, staring at it.

“What?” Eagle said, and looked up - and immediately screwed her eyes shut and hissed, unable to stare directly into the sun’s still-powerful radiance.

“When the sun dies, you will be able to look freely,” the Empress told her, holding out a hand. “Do not rush.”

“Uh huh.” Eagle glowered at the stone.

A flock of birds skimming over city caught Svarla’s attention - it was the fifth flock she had seen heading outwards. “Where are they going?” she asked, indicating the birds as they winged away over the canals.

“To roost,” the Empress answered, smiling. “Evening is coming.”

Svarla did not fully understand until later. The sun continued to vanish, and the temperature dropped more - it was almost chilly by the time the sun died, and around the crowds of people she could hear the chirping of night insects and the evening-calls of birds and animals.

The Empress warned her. “It goes,” she said, clicking her fingers together next to the incense and looking up towards the sun. The incense began to smoke, sparks inside of it setting the herbs to smoldering. The pungent scent of an herb mixture Svarla didn’t recognize began to fill the air. “Watch!”

The sun was nearly completely covered by that black disk; Svarla couldn’t tear her eyes away, watching as sky began to darken. The strongest of the night stars were beginning to poke through the haze as well.

The air was going strange. Svarla had to blink several times and thought perhaps her eyes were not working, but the area around her still looked the same in the light from her armor. No, it was the sun that was doing this: the light was watery and pale, thin, and the world seemed colorless and see-through.

The Empress stood. Svarla remained sitting, feeling oddly radiant as her armor shed light that the sun no longer let off. Eagle, on the other side of the Empress, did the same.

“My people,” the Empress called, and began to speak in the Chalavani tongue as she scooped the incense out of the stone cup and stepped to the edge of the ziggurat, holding her hands out. The smoke rose from one; with the other, she turned a jaguar claw that had been dangling from a bracelet and dug it into her own palm, drawing blood.

Her words rang out across the square. Eagle did stand now, and slipped across the top of the ziggurat to translate quietly for Svarla.

“...the rebirth of the Sun, our giver of life and that which guides us through our days and years, as Atacansah wills it to be brought back. The shadow of time consumes us, but the light of our world will prevail, and day and night continue, end over end, forever. The world turns as it always has and will. The sun will come back as glorious as before. There will be no eternal darkness, there will be no disaster. Behold, people of Teiraxaul, people of Chalavan, the Setting of Years!”

She raised both hands and touched them together, pointing up. Svarla looked up towards the sun, and so did Eagle, and this time they were able to watch as that black disk slid further over the sun’s brilliance, and for a moment Svarla saw little beads of white light dripping off the edge of the disk and then there was a single, final flare of sunlight and then darkness fell like a wall, slamming into her with the full weight of the night.

She gasped out loud, unable to contain herself; the sun was gone. In its place was a perfectly black circle, and surrounding that were massive, wispy banners of white radiance. The sky was a deep blue, speckled with stars, and when Svarla managed to pull her eyes away she saw that in every direction the horizon was a blaze of sunset colors, oranges and pinks and purples. The night-insects screeched and hummed in the lush city around them, almost drowned out by the cries and murmurs from the assembled crowd.

And the Empress…

Svarla watched as the Empress took a breath, breathing in the smoke from the incense now thick with her own blood, and then exhaled it in a long stream upwards. It curled, not dissipating in the air, and Svarla watched in astonishment as it began to form something more solid than smoke.

The Empress’ quetzal took flight and vanished into the cloud, and bursting out of it came a creature, gray-white haze and reflected sunlight, two long wings and an incredibly long tail and two legs, a long neck with massive feathers and light that trailed from the tips of its primaries. A thin, curling line of white connected the Empress to this great apparition.

“It looks like you,” Svarla managed, touching Eagle’s arm.

It did resemble Eagle’s monster-form, her halfway-point lycanthrope body. But this thing was no monster - it was a god, and Svarla could tell that from the way it seemed to bend the universe around it. Now she understood Eagle’s stone on the cloth metaphor. This image warped the air, pulling light towards itself, twisting the very appearance of the world.

“Atacansah,” Eagle breathed.

The apparition beat its wings and swirled upwards, long reptilian tail and feathers whisking through the sky. Everyone watched as it rose towards the sun and began to sweep around it in an intricate dance, winding its long, sinuous body through itself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said a voice to Svarla’s left.

She spun. Standing there, on the stone, was the unfamiliar elf from her dreams. She immediately reached for Parhelion, trying to draw it, but couldn’t for some reason.

“Hey,” the elf said, holding out their hands. “No need for that.”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?!”

“We don’t have a lot of time,” the unfamiliar elf hissed. “Listen. The other Princes can’t hear us here, and neither can Nauhtlexico, because he’s distracted watching Atacansah’s dance. Everyone is. So  _ listen! _ ”

Svarla glanced over at Eagle, but the elf was frozen in place, looking up. “Why can’t Eagle hear you? Why can’t anyone?”

“This is happening inside your head. You haven’t actually moved; you’re still watching the sun. Listen.” the unfamiliar elf shook his head. “I need your help. The Princes won’t help me. Chathranda  _ said _ you’re the best I’m going to get. This is the first good opportunity we’ve had in hundreds of years. Thousands, even.” He paused and took a breath. “I need your help.”

“...this isn’t my realm,” Svarla said. “Why not ask the Empress?”

“I can’t speak to her.”

“Why not? You’re speaking to me.”

“You let people speak to you, so I can. She hasn’t. She’s too well-guarded to get a message to.” The elf looked over at the Empress, shaking his head. “I need you to go down.”

“Down?”

“Below. Below the city. Under Teiraxaul. I can’t speak freely even like this, someone will hear. But I need to speak with you.” He shifted where he stood, soft paws scraping against the stone of the ziggurat. “I need your help.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain now! If I do, it’ll catch the attention of our captors.” He stopped abruptly and his entire form tensed, as if something had just pained him. Svarla couldn’t read any expression in that barren-bone face. “Their control is already tightening on this - I could only get a message out because they were distracted. Go down. Go down!”

He vanished as Svarla watched, and when she blinked, she found herself standing next to Eagle, staring up at the brilliant dead sun, and Atacansah’s dance.

“What the hell,” Svarla managed.

Eagle glanced over. “What?” she said.

“...I just saw something,” Svarla murmured, “but perhaps we should discuss it later.”

Atacansah’s dance continued to loop around and almost  _ through _ the wispy feathers of white that poured out from behind the moon. The Empress simply watched, calm, as her god called the sun back to the world.

And it answered. It seemed like hours before the sun returned, though Svarla knew it was only minutes, and when it did come back it came back in a single point of light that began to grow on the far side from where the light had vanished, first a pinprick of light and then a flare rising in brilliance until even Svarla could not look at it. She heard the assembled crowds cry out, gasping and shouting, as the shadow of the moon slid away.

Atacansah swirled still, the gray smoke gaining color in the sunlight - it became that iridescent green-blue, that deep heartsblood red, as the light began to color the world again. Finally it swept down, following the trail of smoke that led it to the Empress, and when it reached her it slammed full force into her.

It did not knock her over - rather, it simply poofed into smoke that curled away and began to dissolve into the air, and the only thing left was the Empress’ quetzal, which fluttered awkwardly onto her shoulder and sat there, leaning against her head, exhausted.

The sky began to grow lighter, the shadow sliding away. Color filtered back into the land.

“My people,” the Empress called, raising her hands. “The Sun has set and been reborn. We are still here, all of us, and together in the light we will walk into this new time, forward to the future! The gods are with you. I am with you. May our Empire live in peace again!”

A roar echoed from the crowd below. Svarla tried not to show any emotion, but she was shaken, steeling herself to keep from trembling in place. She felt weak - perhaps because of her vision, perhaps because of the death of the light, even if only for a short time; perhaps both.

_ “I need you to go down. Below. Below the city. Under Teiraxaul.” _

Was he down there? But the elves had left this place long ago. Hadn’t they?

Hadn’t they?

Svarla listened to the crowd, speaking, shouting, cheering, beginning to disperse through the streets to the sound of music, rising from many throats. She clasped her hands behind her back and squeezed one wrist with the other hand until it felt like the joint was going to pop.

Something was very, horribly wrong here, in this city of the gods. In this beautiful, brilliant place. And while Svarla could tell, she got the sensation that no one else - not even the Empress - could.

This wasn’t her realm. This wasn’t her country, wasn’t her Empress, wasn’t her people or her gods or her land. But that didn’t matter. Whatever was happening… she was the only one who could do anything about it.


End file.
